


Finding (and Keeping) A Stray

by samuelbyrnes



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Desus Holiday Bingo 2k17, First Meetings, M/M, Platonic Cuddling, Pre-Relationship, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-19 17:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13128225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samuelbyrnes/pseuds/samuelbyrnes
Summary: Daryl was on his way home when he heard it; a soft whining sound, barely perceptible over the pounding rain, coming from somewhere in the alley. It sounded appropriately pathetic, and there was enough of a chance that it could've been someone's kid who recently shifted and ran off that Daryl stopped at the mouth of the alley.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Couple things: 1) this is for the Desus Holiday Bingo (sliding in late to the party; go me) and I'm not 100% sure it qualifies, but I tried. For the "Rain" card/prompt. 2) This is in the same universe as my [Infinite Realities, Infinite Desus challenge fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12305445/chapters/28367133), but like...pre-relationship leading into it. Basically, what I'm hoping out of this small series of fics is to build up that universe. Fingers crossed, y'all.

Daryl was on his way home when he heard it; a soft whining sound, barely perceptible over the pounding rain, coming from somewhere in the alley. It sounded appropriately pathetic, and there was enough of a chance that it could've been someone's kid who recently shifted and ran off that Daryl stopped at the mouth of the alley. He slowly made his way into the alley, ears straining to pinpoint the kid, eventually kneeling down next to an industrial-sized trash bin and peering under it. He blinks when he lays eyes on a tiny fox-like creature, soaking wet and shivering yet scowling at Daryl.

"Lookin' 'bout as pathetic as you sound, kid," Daryl murmurs, chuckling softly when there was a growl from the fox. "Man, if you didn't want attention, y'shouldn't o'been whinin' the way you were." He briefly looks around at the surrounding buildings before looking back under the bin. "Y'got a place t'go home to?" He waits, frowning when there's a small shake of the head. "Well, yer bitty enough that I might have some space at my place. Fancy gettin' out of this freezin' rain?" 

The fox gives Daryl another scowl, but slowly scoots out from under the bin, letting out a yelp and struggling when Daryl scoops them up. 

"Keep yer tail on," Daryl grumbles, wrapping the fox in his jacket. "Jus' tryin' t'make this as quick as possible. Don't make it weird." 

With that, he walks out of the alley and toward home, holding tight to the shivering bundle inside his jacket. 

~ 

The rain's still coming down when Daryl walks into his apartment. He gently removes the fox from his jacket before bending to get his boots off, growling when the fox gives themselves a vigorous shake. 

"Couldn't wait, could you?" he grouses, kicking his boot off and walking further inside, pausing in the living room and half-turning. "Way I see it, y'got two options here: shift back an' take a shower t'warm up or I get a few towels an' scrub ya down." 

The fox stares at Daryl with their head cocked; in what seems like seconds, there's a man standing naked in Daryl's living room. Daryl squawks and turns, flushing darkly, and points to the hallway. 

"Bathroom's that way," he mumbles. "First door on the right." 

He hears a soft chuckle, then light footsteps coming toward him, jumping when there's a feather-light touch to his arm as the man walks past him. He dares a peek at the guy's backside, biting his lower lip and looking away, waiting to hear the bathroom door shut before moving. It appears things just got a bit more complicated than Daryl was expecting and he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do next.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, I have no idea what happened to this one. It was supposed to be for the "Red Nose" square/prompt, but I'm not so sure it counts. Essentially, it was supposed to go in one direction, but the characters decided to go in a completely different direction (and no, I have no idea what's with Daryl in this fic/universe). IDK.

Of course, Daryl knew what he had to do right now. He walks into his bedroom and grabs some sweatpants, a t-shirt, and one of his larger hoodies, placing the items on the floor in front of the bathroom for the guy to grab when he gets out. He then wanders into his kitchen and starts a kettle of water, half his attention on his house guest while he gets a pot ready for tea. He's rummaging around for something to feed the guy when he hears the water turn off, then the door opening and closing soon after, then finally opening again and soft footsteps shuffling out. Daryl straightens and turns, lips quirking at the sight of the guy being practically swallowed by his clothes.

"Y'got any cross-over allergies?" Daryl asks. 

The guy blinks, head tilted in confusion. "Any what now?" 

"Cross-over allergies," Daryl repeats, gesturing vaguely. "Y'know how when some dog shifters are allergic to chocolate or grapes? Shit like that." 

"I wasn't aware that was something that could happen, actually," the guy says thoughtfully, then smiles. "I don't think I have anything like that." 

Daryl hums and turns back to his pantry, bristling only slightly when the guy comes up behind him quietly and touches his arm. 

"I appreciate you getting me out of the cold and rain," he says, "but you don't have to do this." 

"You'd rather go back out there?" Daryl asks, throwing a look over his shoulder at the man. "Find another trash bin t'hide under?" He shrugs, pulling out a couples boxes and putting them on the counter. "Ain't gonna stop ya, but it's prob'bly a bad idea." He pulls away when the kettle starts whistling, removing it from the stove and pouring the water into the pot. 

It's quiet for several long minutes, the man staring at Daryl with a contemplative look on his face. It makes Daryl fidget uncomfortably, fiddling with the strings of the tea bags. 

"You know, I always thought big cats like yourself wouldn't want anyone strange in their territory," the guy finally says, cocking his head to the side. 

"'M tryin' t'be nice," Daryl growls, "but if y'really wanna, I could kick ya out." 

The man puts his hands up, conceding for now. "I'm Paul, by the way," he says. "Some people like to call me Jesus." He smiles when Daryl snorts. 

"'M Daryl," Daryl says, opening a cabinet and getting out some cups. "So, what's a bitty fox like you doin' 'round these parts? Figured y'mighta stayed somewhere warm, like Arizona or somethin'." 

"Wanted to see the sights," Paul says, a little too quickly, and Daryl looks at him; he shrugs. 

Daryl huffs and puts the cups down before picking up one of the boxes and tossing it lightly at Paul. Paul catches it, looking down at the box then up at Daryl, brows furrowed. 

"'S a bit late t'make somethin'," Daryl answers the unasked question, pouring himself a cup of tea, "but a protein bar'll get ya through the night. Eat it an' drink the tea. I'll see ya in the mornin'." He salutes with his cup and walks off to his bedroom, intent on getting some sleep and hoping Paul will do the same. 

~ 

Several hours later, Daryl lies awake in his bed, not sure what woke him up. He contemplates the ceiling for a while when his ears pick up on a sniffling sort of sound; seconds later, there's a sneeze and miserable grumbling. 

Oh. 

Slowly, Daryl gets out of bed, walking down the hall and pausing at the threshold of the living room to observe his house guest. Paul must have found Daryl's supply of extra linens because he's wrapped in one of the massive quilts, a small mountain of tissues sitting on the coffee table in front of him. From what Dayl can see, Paul looks miserable; messy-haired and flushed, one hand clinging to the quilt while the other clutches a tissue, wiping absently at his nose. His eyes dart up to Daryl when he quietly enters the room, then down at the tissues with a grimace. 

"Sorry about the mess," Paul murmurs, swallowing. "Did I wake you?" 

"'S fine." Daryl shrugs. "Y'need anythin'?" 

Paul looks briefly like he wants something, but then he blinks and shakes his head. "Think I'm good with everything right now," he says, smiling. "Thanks, though." 

Daryl narrows his eyes at the fox, then shakes his head. "Like a goddamn wet kitten," he grumbles to himself. 

Paul watches as Daryl stalks into the kitchen, hears the kettle being dropped onto the stove, then watches the man go back down the hall and come back with a blanket, another box of tissues, and a small bottle that looks suspiciously like cold medicine. Daryl drops the items on the chair near the couch before going back to the kitchen and coming out with a steaming cup of tea and a plastic bag. He puts the cup on the coffee table some distance away from the mountain of tissues and unfurls the bag, sweeping the used tissues into it before dropping it on the now empty space. Paul blinks as Daryl puts the bottle and box of tissues next to the bag, then the cup, then finally shaking the blanket out and wrapping himself in it before finally plopping himself down on the couch next to Paul. 

"What are you doing?" Paul finally asks. 

Daryl ignores the question; instead, he reaches for the bottle, cracking it open and pouring out a measure before handing it to Paul, scowling when Paul makes a face. 

"Take it." 

Paul grumbles, but takes it, shivering and gagging at the taste, taking a gulp of tea when it's pushed into his hands. He only gets a few more sips of it before Daryl takes it from him, letting out a squawk of protest when the man all but shoves him into lying down. 

"What the hell?" 

"Don't make it weird." 

The next second, Daryl's on top of him, the man's weight pressing him down into the cushions; there's a subtle shift and suddenly, there's soft purring. Paul blinks again and looks at Daryl; Daryl stares back lazily, slitted eyes hooded and a small smirk on his lips. It's the last thing Paul sees when sleep takes him down.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *scuffs foot* So, this is heinously late, but hopefully/probably still valid. My only excuse for being so late is that I was under the influence of cold medicine when I initially wrote this and my not-sick brain had no clue what to do next. Fingers crossed the next update isn't another six months down the road.
> 
> FTR, this one is supposed to be the 'misunderstanding' square, but I'm not sure if I hit the mark or not.

Paul's not sure what time it is when he finally wakes up. The weak sunlight filtering in through a window offers no help; it could be early morning or late afternoon for all he knows. His mind's a mess of confusion, his body aching and shivery from the sudden cold he came down with. He groans and brings his hands up to his face, scrubbing furiously before remembering what happened last night. He lets his hands drop, gripping the couch firmly as he slowly sits up, looking around the room for any sign of the other man. He's not quite sure what the guy was thinking and though he appreciated the effort, it put his hackles up a bit. One generally doesn't force another to take cold medicine, crawl on top of them, and then fuck off the next day. He's pretty sure it's bad manners, not to mention creepy as hell when you're not expecting it, but Paul figures it's because the guy's a cat and therefore doesn't care what anyone else thinks.

My way, or the highway. 

The motto of every single cat Paul's ever had the misfortune of coming across and this one appears to be no different. 

"Bunch of creepy, ornery bastards," Paul grumbles, sniffling and wiping at his nose. 

The quietude of the house indicates that Paul's alone; the note next to the bottle of cold medicine confirms that. 

_Out. Be back. Take the medicine._

Paul rolls his eyes, choosing to ignore the silent demand and instead takes in the room he's in. As far as living rooms go, it's fairly standard: couch, coffee table, bookshelves, an end table with a lamp, and a small entertainment cabinet with a TV on top. He's pretty curious about the rest of the place, but he's pretty sure he'd fall over himself if he tried, so he bundles the blankets tighter around himself and settles down. 

He must have dozed off at one point, startling awake when someone enters the living room. It sets off a coughing fit, causing him to curl in on himself with a wheezing, hacking whine. He hears a curse, hears hurried footsteps and suddenly, someone's looming over him. He panics when hands touch his shoulders, shifting into his half-form and lashing out blindly. There's a shout of pained surprise, a slew of cursing, but Paul barely hears it as he stumbles off the couch, tripping over the blanket as he goes, wedging himself firmly in the corner by the bookshelf. It's cramped and dusty, which sets off his coughing again, throat and lungs burning. It was several minutes before he got his breathing more or less under control, grumbling half-heartedly about the uncleanliness he was hiding among. His eyes snapped to the opening when a shadow fell over him, scowling fiercely. 

"Thought cats were supposed to be clean creatures," he grumbles. 

The man Paul now recognizes as Daryl scoffs, crouching down. "Only if they're house cats, kid," he says. "We wild sorts don't particularly care if there's a little mess." He tilts his head. "Think y'can come outta there?" 

Paul scowls at Daryl a little longer and Daryl gets the message, backing up enough so Paul can wriggle out. Once out, Paul gives himself a good shake and sneezes, which sets him off coughing again. He hears Daryl grumble and watches him as he goes over to the coffee table to get the cough medicine, coming back with a measure of it in the cap. He practically shoves it at Paul, trying to not purr when the fox grudgingly takes it before tossing the empty cap back at him. They both head back to the couch, Paul dropping onto it with a grunt while Daryl takes a seat on the coffee table, idly wiping the medicine cap clean with a tissue. It's quiet for many uncomfortable minutes before either say anything. 

"'M sorry," Daryl mumbles finally, nudging at the tissue box when Paul sniffles. 

Paul blinks, confused. "For what?" he asks. 

Daryl shrugs, nudging the box again when Paul continues sniffling. Paul rolls his eyes and takes a tissue, making a show of blowing his nose and throwing the tissue out. His tail taps on the couch, showing his irritation of the matter. Daryl watches it, head tilted before he shakes his head and focuses back on Paul's face. 

"Fer everythin', I guess," he replies. 

Paul blinks again, then shrugs. "It's fine," he says. "Yeah, I'm a little freaked out about last night, especially since you are a big cat and I was half-terrified you'd eat me, but it's fine." He tilts his head. "Honestly, I wasn't sure you had it in you." 

"What d'ya mean?" Daryl asks, brow furrowed. 

"Cats in general aren't exactly the sort to cuddle with complete strangers," Paul says, lips twisting into a small smile. "You have to be someone they really like, moreso when they're big cats compared to your so-called house cats. You kinda blew that away when you crushed me into the couch last night, unless there's something else going on." He blinks when a flush steals over Daryl's cheeks, sensitive nose picking up the downturn in the cat's scent. "Daryl?" 

"Y'smell like someone I knew," Daryl murmurs. "Guess instinct couldn't tell th' diff'rence." 

"I'm sorry," Paul says. 

Daryl shakes his head. "'S fine," he says. "Won't happen again." 

Paul scoffs. "I highly doubt that, but I'll let you dream," he teases, grinning when Daryl gives him a small smile.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, to myself: when I said I hoped it wouldn't be another six months for another chapter, I didn't mean that literally...but I guess that's what happens when you have no idea what you're doing and/or other fics get in the way and/or RL gets in the way. ._.
> 
> If we're still following along the Bingo card, this is for the "presents" square.

_Six Weeks Later_

Daryl wasn't quite sure what to think of Paul. Six weeks ago, and for reasons he's still trying to figure out, he had let the fox inside his home, even caring for him when he got sick. It rankled when the fox up and disappeared a week and a half later without saying anything, but Daryl figured it was because he'd become too comfortable with the fox and it spooked the guy into running. 

He tried to not feel too upset about it. 

The weird thing was, less than a week after that, he started getting things dropped on his doorstep. There was never any note and the drop-offs were sporadic enough that Daryl couldn't catch him in the act, but the cat knew it was Paul; for all his sneaking around, the idiot never masked his scent. Once or twice, Daryl caught the smell of another wild cat on the gifts and despite his hackles rising at the smell of another large predator in his territory, those gifts turned out to be the most useful. When it was just Paul, the gifts seemed confusing or outright ridiculous, as though the fox found something he liked and figured Daryl might like it, too. Which is why his bookshelf now had even more books and a bunch of kitschy knickknacks filling whatever empty space was left. It was why he had a grumpy cat mug sitting in his cabinet and a catnip plant sitting next to his window. When it was more than Paul, the gifts seemed more thought out; bolts for his bow, expensive unscented soap, tickets to some exclusive Hike and Hunt event next month, even some fancy, homemade jerky. 

The last gift he got, a laser pointer, also came with a note attached: 

_Coffee? Dinner? Let me know when and where. xo Paul_

Under that was a number. Daryl had to restrain himself from texting Paul with either an immediate agreement or simply telling him to fuck off. Instead, and after programming the number in, he let it stew a few days. Mostly, it was to be sure that he wouldn't be receiving more gifts, but it was also some instinct within him telling him to wait. That it would be better, more satisfying if he waited before striking. It was another week before he finally texted the guy. 

_**Daryl; 10:00 AM:** Hey, this is Daryl. You busy next Wednesday?_

It was a few minutes before he got a reply. 

_**Asshole Fox; 10:05 AM:** Hey Daryl._

_**Asshole Fox; 10:05 AM:** You're in luck; my Wednesday is free. ;) What are we doing?_

_**Daryl; 10:06 AM:** Got a couple tickets to a Hike and Hunt. You in?_

_**Asshole Fox; 10:06 AM:** !!!_

_**Asshole Fox; 10:06 AM:** Never been to one of those, but they sound fun._

_**Asshole Fox; 10:06 AM:** (if that didn't clue you in: hells yes)_

Daryl huffs a chuckle as another text comes in. 

_**Asshole Fox; 10:07 AM:** Where exactly is this taking place and what time should I be there?_

_**Daryl; 10:07 AM:** Up in the mountains, early morning._

_**Asshole Fox; 10:08 AM:** Ugh, morning. *eye roll* Any way I can bunk with you so I'm not too late?_

_**Asshole Fox; 10:08 AM:** Or if I manage to miss it entirely..._

Daryl chews on his bottom lip, glancing at the tickets, then back at the phone screen. 

_**Daryl; 10:09 AM:** Wouldn't miss anything - it's an all-day event._

_**Daryl; 10:09 AM:** Maybe you could come whenever you wake up?_

_**Asshole Fox; 10:10 AM:** ...You mean like hunting you down?_

_**Asshole Fox; 10:10 AM:** And anyway, how would I get in? I don't have a ticket._

_**Daryl; 10:10 AM:** Can let them know you're my plus-1. Not like there's a whole lot of fennecs around to try and steal your spot._

_**Asshole Fox; 10:11 AM:** True..._

_**Asshole Fox; 10:11 AM:** Alright, fine, but you're paying for another date if this falls through._

Daryl grins, a low purr coming from him as he taps out another text. 

_**Daryl; 10:11 AM:** Sounds good. See you Wednesday._

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure when the rest will come...fingers crossed for a Christmas miracle? :D


End file.
